


Standard Operational Procedures

by Lady_T_220



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cockpit Adventures, M/M, Smut, Sub!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_T_220/pseuds/Lady_T_220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another dull day at the pointy end</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standard Operational Procedures

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme - [Original Prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=31448#t31448)

It's a beautiful sight, really it is, Martin's lips pink and soft, his tongue a rough swirl of friction in the hot cavern of his mouth. It's a mouth Douglas is all too familiar with, though it's usually curling around tiresome regulations and SOPs. It's a mouth that really never shuts up, but yet it's pretty none the less, especially when it can be induced to actually smile about something. It's a mouth Douglas is familiar with for all sorts of reasons, but it is ever at its best when it's like this, wet and hot and blessedly silent because it is wrapped luxuriously around Douglas's cock.

They're holed up in the cockpit, day wasted on stand-by, but still there's no hint of boredom because Martin is good at this. Really, frighteningly good. If he were half as good at flying as he is at sucking Douglas off he'd be Air Chief Marshal of the bloody world by now. But that's barely even scratching the surface because the very best part as far as Douglas is concerned, is that Martin seems to really like doing it.

He's kneeling on the floor between Douglas's spread legs, still fully dressed, and the low, hungry sound in his throat is trapped by the thick flesh filling his mouth. Both the sound and the feel of it is glorious.

Douglas's trousers are pulled open around his hips, trapped by the limits of the co-pilot's chair. His underwear has been yanked down just enough to free his cock and his right hand slides forward to rest broad and heavy against the side of Martin's neck. He barely cups under Martin's chin, but the nudge of his thumb tips Martin's head back a fraction and Douglas groans as he slides deeper. He can feel the flutter of tendons under his fingertips as Martin's jaw strains around him, the head of his penis brushing the very back of Martin's tongue.

It's a blinding slide of pressure and friction and tight heat and Douglas has to battle to stop his eyes slamming shut at the deep, rolling pleasure of it, gaze fixed determinedly on Martin's ridiculously pretty face. His lips are glistening and wet, wrapped sweetly around the girth of Douglas's shaft, tongue ceaseless and caressing as he sucks hungrily at the flesh in his mouth.

Martin almost bodily arches into the touch when Douglas's left hand brushes lightly against his cheek. He whimpers pathetically as if starved for affection and Douglas's fingers stroke gently across his ear, broad thumb tracing the curve of Martin's flushed cheekbone. Martin's eyes flutter open, watery grey-blue and nakedly grateful, Douglas's hand sliding up into his hair and spreading wide fingers across the back of Martin's skull. The pressure is firm and guiding, holding Martin's head steady as Douglas's hips rise, cock sliding deeper to just meet the warmth of his throat before easing back again, setting up a slow, lazy rhythm. Martin's tongue curls against the sensitive crown as it passes each time, his eyes sliding shut again, lashes curled auburn against the paleness of his skin and Douglas tightens his grip.

Martin is beautiful and compliant and addictive, Douglas's hips pushing a little tighter, a little faster, seeking sweet friction and Martin takes it with nothing more than a muffled, pleasured sigh. Slender fingers clutch reflexively against the solid presence of Douglas's thighs and Douglas watches though half-lidded eyes, possession and satisfaction both blatant in his gaze.

Fucking Martin's mouth is proof indeed, if it were still needed, that God loves Douglas. Because the best way to get Martin to stop talking about regulations and flight statistics is to put his distractingly luscious mouth to a far more interesting purpose, and sucking greedily on Douglas's cock is by far the best use Douglas has ever found.

The thought is sharp and gratifying, Douglas's thrusts narrowing down to rough, abortive jerks as pleasure pools hot and low between his spread thighs. Heavy fullness swells in the pit of his stomach and his fingers clench into a fist in Martin's hair.

It's good, so very, very good, guiding his head, so obedient and eager to please. The hand at Martin's jaw slides to the back of his neck, pressing insistently, and Douglas can feel Martin's throat constrict tightly around the tip of his invading cock, struggling to take it any deeper. Martin's lips are almost flush to the root of his shaft and the sight of it combined with the fluttering, wet heat of Martin's mouth is enough to push Douglas to completion.

His teeth clench tightly on the sharp grunt of release as it burns violently through him, semen spilling thick and satisfying into Martin's throat as he holds that glorious, shifting wetness down unflinchingly tight over his erection. Martin swallows around him frantically, breath huffing from his nose in sharp pants as Douglas thrusts against him, pinning him there until Douglas finally starts to soften against his tongue.

Douglas's fist un-knots from Martin's hair, palms sliding down to gently frame his flushed, warm face. He lifts Martin's head back slowly, sliding free of that beautiful mouth until just the tip of Douglas's cock is resting on Martin's swollen, reddened lips. He paints a slick trail of come across the wet curve of that pout and Martin's tongue sneaks out to draw it clean, his eyes still closed as his head dips again to lap gently at the softened warmth of Douglas's spent penis.

It's hypnotic to watch, tentative kitten-licks washing his sated cock, Martin nuzzling gratefully between Douglas's legs even though Martin is obviously viciously hard inside his uniform trousers, the fabric pulled taut and uncomfortable across his crotch. Douglas pets Martin's hair soothingly, a hand on his shoulder pushing him back until Martin is resting on his heels, eyes sliding open again, huge and luminous as Douglas leans forward to slide his hand firmly down into the front of Martin's trousers.

Martin's lips part in surprise, his hips jerking sharply to push his aching erection tighter against the heavy, rough pressure of Douglas's palm. Even through the cotton of his shorts the slow, circling grind is both blissful and torture. Douglas's hand pushes lower to curl under Martin's tight, sensitive balls, fingertip pressing against his perineum even as the heel of his palm rubs hard against the base of his rigid, swollen shaft.

"Come on, Martin," Douglas murmurs. "There's a good lad."

Martin's shoulders hunch forward and he tenses, pressing his forehead to the warm safety of Douglas's stomach as he whimpers and hitches against the unceasing pressure. He comes with a stifled, plaintive little cry, body shivering helplessly as he grinds his cock eagerly against Douglas's palm, rutting against it in desperation as the hot flood of his release soaks wet and sticky into the soft cotton of his underwear.

He is panting hard and too hot as he comes down, hissing at the over-sensitive pull of Douglas's fingers as they slide out of his trousers, cock still tender from the freshness of his orgasm. He knows he should move but despite the spunk clinging unpleasantly to the inside his clothes, Martin remains where he is, draped limply over Douglas's lap.

Douglas's hands stroke idly at Martin's shoulders and neck, ruffling his hair affectionately and Martin basks in it.

"Alright down there, Captain Crieff?" Douglas asks mildly.

Martin nods, taking a shuddering breath before slowly dragging himself away to rest once more on his heels, eyes bright and pupils still blown from the flood of endorphins. Douglas smiles down at him fondly.

"Jolly good, there's the chap. Much more fun than reviewing procedures, I'm sure you'll agree. And I'll tell you something else-"

"What?" Martin manages. His voice is slightly hoarse, throat strained, and he sees Douglas's smile widen into an unrepentantly filthy grin.

"We have two hours of standby left to endure. If you can refrain from making us review any more tiresome safety regulations I may yet be induced to bugger you senseless over the console."


End file.
